Chris Cannon, wrapped in fleece and wearing sheepskin slippers against a bitter March wind, allows a shiver of exuberance — it’s actually happening. The marble pillars inside Vail Mansion in Morristown are stone cold, the historic landmark building has no heat and the kitchens remain to be built.

But Cannon promises that his new baby, Jockey Hollow Bar & Kitchen, will finally open this summer. Renovations have taken longer than anticipated, the fight for a liquor license was onerous and the project already has cost $5 million.

The mansion, built nearly a century ago for an executive at AT&T, will become home to an oyster bar, a private event space, a bar and a fine dining area. And despite its imposing European grandeur (think fashion photo shoot for Vogue Italia), the space will not be overwhelming or fussy, Cannon promises.

Chris Cannon has helmed several successful New York eateries.Nathan Rawlinson

That glorious wrought iron, those floor-to-ceiling windows and that sweeping staircase will be offset by a collection of dynamic, contemporary sculptures and artwork, including a provocative piece of video art above the bar — one that walks you through heaven, hell and purgatory.

Jockey Hollow is the name of a historical site in Morristown, where Gen. George Washington survived the coldest winter on record. Cannon likes that the name of his new place pays homage to that history, but also that it offers a clubby feel (think 21 Club, Jockey Club).

Jockey Hollow Bar & Kitchen is not just a restaurant. It’s also part oyster farm, and Cannon has partnered with Forty North, an indie oyster operation based in Mantoloking that hopes to help revive the state’s oyster industry (with the help of Rutgers researchers).

Cannon also has partnered with Ralston Farm in Mendham, offering a direct farm-to-table relationship. Plus, Jockey Hollow will be an educational hub. Cannon worked with chef Bill Telepan years ago and plans to champion Telepan’s Wellness in the Schools program in New Jersey.

Cannon may not have the name recognition of industry peers (he’s seen more as a manager than chef), but he collects Michelin stars with seeming ease. He got his start at Manhattan’s famed Judson Grill and later opened Convivo and Alto, both much acclaimed. His achievements have been overshadowed in recent years by a rancorous split from his business partner, celebrity chef Michael White.

It’s been three years since the break. Cannon abruptly closed his signature New York City restaurants and dissolved a partnership with Altamarea, a restaurant group beloved by the New York media — one that began with restaurants in Bernardsville and New Brunswick, and then expanded exponentially in Manhattan. He also ended his partnership with White, the burly, blond Midwestern football player who somehow has become America’s expert on authentic Italian cuisine.

After the split, Cannon collected himself in New Jersey, bicycling his way to this conclusion — that he wasn’t about to allow a few personal scuffles to keep him from the business he loves. He’s back with defiance, as manager for All’onda in Greenwich Village, which opened to good buzz earlier this year, and now at Jockey Hollow.

Meantime, he has embarked on a clever marketing campaign of his own, quietly introducing himself to New Jersey, hosting intimate lunches at his home. It’s a chance to surprise people with his culinary skills (even Ruth Reichl had him pegged as front-of-the-house guy rather than a chef).

But it’s also a chance to show off his regular-guy side, the husband and father with the too-eager dog who scurries across the kitchen, seeking attention; the Michelin chef who shops at Costco for quinoa, pancake mix and, sometimes, when it’s available, lamb; the guy with bathroom humor in his bathroom — a series of naked butts, photos of people mooning, the work of his wife’s cousin.

A view of the mansion's dining room, photographed in 2003.Robert Sciarrino/The Star-Ledger

Cannon doesn’t talk specifics of his famous split. But he does emphasize this: Marea was his idea.

Marea is the restaurant that became the most odds-defying, recession-baby restaurant in New York City. The restaurant that sits, as if it were always there, like an icon along Central Park South, near The Plaza and Exhale Fitness, amid all the other amusements and distractions of the world’s wealthy. The restaurant where Anderson Cooper and Barbara Walters dine. It was 2009, and other restaurants were disintegrating or chasing the mac-and-cheese dollar. Cannon, who has a degree in economics from Brown University, preferred the path less taken. Marea, elegant and refined, opened in our most austere era.

That Marea was Cannon’s idea doesn’t need to be said. The monkfish speaks for itself.

Cannon’s monkfish is wrapped in squid ink and is served atop borlotti beans in a tomato sauce. The monkfish is exactly the kind of dish — ethereal seafood paired with a rustic, peasant-like complement — for which Marea is famous. It’s a combination that doesn’t seem sophisticated, intellectually (fish and beans?); a combination that doesn’t seem light, visually (fish and beans?). Yet, in the mouth, it surprises. It’s a combination that seems exactly perfect, exactly elegant, exactly worldly and modern.

Lunch also features sweetbreads over tagliatelle (the pasta comes from Costco; Cannon happily buys it in bulk). And, wearing his baseball cap backward, Cannon mans the burners of his enviously impressive Wolf stove, carefully sautéing the sweetbreads in an oversize cast-iron skillet, which, he says, incredulously, his wife is eager to scrub raw but which is entirely the wrong thing to do with a cast-iron skillet.

At his dining table, made of rustic wood, Cannon has a panoramic view of a lake. He’s lived here 10 years and loves New Jersey, despite all the condescending jokes from his New York friends and his Connecticut relatives. New Jerseyans, he argues, are just as sophisticated as New Yorkers. But we’re also less precious, more authentic, a warts-and-all crowd.

Cannon, as a restaurateur, has made a career predicting the future. New Jersey, he says, is ready for Jockey Hollow and its myriad culinary roles, its whimsy and its grandeur, its communal tables downstairs and its more formal space upstairs, its educational role and its thoughtful yet playful wine list. He’s eager to welcome us.

Plus, it’s a mere 15 minutes from his home. Living well may be his best revenge.